


cross my heart

by Rovnsky (Lethally)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, M/M, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lethally/pseuds/Rovnsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yell, scream, say something!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	cross my heart

Ronan’s footsteps echoed on the empty white walls while his mind overcompensated, filling the void of the white nothingness with all the insults he could find. The mantra had started with “I don’t wanna to see this kidnapping asshole, I just want to punch his weasel face in, and kick his teeth out.” Then it had continued with “who does this shit think he is, fuck, I’ll just kill this mobster trash, fuck, why am I here, fucking hell, I hate hospitals.” And then surprisingly, “what the fucking hell do they do to people in this white hole? Fuck, this place was made to suck the life out of him, fuck, what will he be like, is he still alive?”

The answer was no, Kavinsky was dead and in his stead there was an empty shell, still, and quiet, and silent, two very different things; the Kavinsky who dreamed was gone and the Kavinsky who drunk was gone and the Kavinsky who raced Ronan until dawn was dead. One minute staring at a corpse with Kavinsky’s face, but worse, sunken in and withering, and Kavinsky’s eyes, bloodshot and so white, as white as the walls. The eyes kept following him as he paced around the room, no bars at the window, yet nothing but white hallways to stare at. And Ronan’s thoughts were like lava, bubbling inside him, until he, a volcano of anger, and life, and hate, exploded.

“Yell, scream, say something!”

He stood a foot away from Kavinsky’s bed, and Kavinsky simply seated there, looking at him with indifferent eyes. A chill crawled up his spine when Kavinsky’s lips moved into a full teeth grin. He reminded Ronan of a starved wolf, Eastern Europe had to be full of those, it was probably in Kavinsky’s blood. The Kavinsky corpse stayed silent, and the eyes stayed dead, but the blueish chapped lips said, maybe there is still life in me.

Silence was something Ronan could stand, sometimes he even relished it, but he hated stillness, especially stillness from the most alive and moving being he’d ever met. The lips dropped to form an emotionless shape again, and Ronan yearned to give some life back into Kavinsky’s corpse, just so he could kick him and punch him, and tell him he hated him for Matthew. Instead, because Ronan was not that bad a Christian that he would kick a dead man, he brushed his hand over Kavinsky head, brushing the fine brown hair, no longer sharp without their usual gel. Kavinsky’s eyes moved, for barely a second, up to Ronan’s face, to his mouth, and then back to nothing.

The door slammed behind Ronan as he left and he was happy there were no mirrors in the too white hallways, or he’d have been confronted with the redness of his face.

“Kavinsky is dead, there’s no need for me to come see him again, he’s dead, so fucking dead, I’m not coming back to this shithole.”

And yet, Ronan was back the next week.


End file.
